


Maybe this Time

by AngelCakesxx



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-03-29 18:39:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19025650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelCakesxx/pseuds/AngelCakesxx
Summary: Finally after three long years travelling the seas exploring Arya Stark caves into her curiosity about Gendry Baratheon's life at Storm's End. She remains hidden in the shadows until one day she decides to step out of them finally.





	1. Chapter 1

The Lord’s chambers of Storm’s End was something Gendry Baratheon still struggled to become accustomed with, even after the three years he’d spent learning to rule the Stormlands. Several giant stag antlers that had adored the walls he’d requested to be taken down when he’d first arrived, it had made him feel a little more comfortable; and for a lord the room was still rather bare, except for a writing table, where paper and quills lay upon it, unsealed and unraveled scrolls sat, a large featherbed with soft sheets and furs for when the nights grew cold, a large window overlooking the sea where high waves crashed against the cliffs, and a few items such as discarded pieces of clothing, weapons and forge tools.

The sparse nature of the place never bothered Gendry, whom had grown up with a lot less then he owned today. After all, his hammer, a fire, and a good piece of steel were all he’d ever needed. He’d learnt however that ruling one of the six kingdoms meant he needed a lot more then the simplicity of his youth. That wasn’t to say he didn’t enjoy being a lord. He enjoyed it immensely in seeing the joy in the faces of the common folk when he was open and generous in attending to their grievances, the grins of the baseborn children when he ordered extra sweets and cakes to taken to the orphanage, how the lords (after a fair amount of time of course) had finally accepted his brutal honesty and fairness when it came to their freedoms. His way of ruling was stern but kind, always putting the needs of his people first, and he had quickly gained a reputation of being one of the better rulers of the six Kingdoms.

Gendry sighed heavily as he entered the Lord’s chamber that evening kicking off his boots. The day had been hard. They had eventually found the culprits who had been hiding along the edge of the Stormlands, pillaging and burning villages, raping passersby, murdering children and men; a group of disgruntled Dothraki whom were taking systematic revenge against the late Dragon Queen’s demise. He’d ridden out with a group of Baratheon guards do deal with them; many had met the blunt end of his hammer. He glanced around the room noticing one of the servants had lit candles helping his eyes to adjust to the darkness a little better. He unlaced his jerkin and pulled his tunic from his shoulders, musing his black hair as he placed the clothing onto the chair near the door. All he could think about was falling into bed when a sudden flicker of shadow caught his eye across the room. 

If he’d never fought the dead at Winterfell, if he’d never seen black magic in the form of the Red Witch, if he’d never knew how silently a person could be trained to move one like the Unsullied, he might have missed it. But he didn’t. He paused only for a second, lowered his blue eyes and crossed the room to the writing desk; he knew there lay a dagger under the scroll he’d received from Ser Davos earlier that day. He knew if he drew any larger weapon he’d sell himself out altering his potential attacker. He gently brushed the scroll aside and just as his fingers found the hilt of the small knife he heard the unmistakable creak of a bowstring being pulled tight. 

He froze before quickly recovering, waiting for the twang of the arrow’s release, “If you want to kill me at least face me in the light. Or do you like killing from the shadows? Like a coward?” 

“Call me a coward again and I’ll gut you like a fish, My Lord.” 

The voice was both a shock of beautiful music and a sickening punch to his gut. Maybe he’d actually fallen asleep, collapsing into his bed in exhaustion and now his mind was playing nasty tricks on him. He felt the press of the sharp arrowhead into the bare skin between his shoulder blades and it was like a pinch, he was most certainly not dreaming. 

“Hello Lady Stark,” he muttered, his shoulders tensing and his brow frowning, he could feel the arrowhead softly skimming along his skin so he knew she was moving around to his front, it scratched his skin, but she wasn’t pressing hard enough to draw blood. It was now on his arm and he turned his head slightly to catch sight of her for the first time since she’d disappeared after the council meeting, “Has somebody paid a price for my head?”

“If they had you wouldn’t still be standing here, breathing and well,” she answered back, the edges of her mouth tugging upwards slightly but her bow was still raised as she stopped directly in front of him. They stared at each other for a long moment, he couldn’t read the emotion in her grey eyes, but his never left her face. She still had the same around face, childlike, but there was an essence of a true woman now, travelling and experienced, her gaze less blank but more guarded and predatory at the same time. She was just as beautiful as the night she’d pushed him back onto the grain sacks all those years ago at Winterfell and climbed naked on top of him. 

Instead of saying such thoughts aloud he turned his back on her and walked to the large window, pushing the lever slightly ajar and letting the cold air from the night whistle into the room, the sound of crashing waves loud far below them, the candles flickered. 

“If you’re not here to kill me then what can I help you with Lady Stack?” he returned to his desk, taking up the dagger, still avoiding her eyes and began placing the open scrolls in order. She was silent as she watched him and he heard the ease of the bowstring as she finally lowered her weapon. 

“Can a girl not call on an old friend to see how he’s doing?” 

Gendry nearly laughed at that. 

“I didn’t realize we were still friends,” he finally raised his eyes to her face again, her expression unreadable but her eyes were bright in the candlelit room, the moonlight was washing her in a pale glow and he gritted his teeth, his jaw locked. He wanted to hate her but he couldn’t, there was too much history, too much time protecting and caring about the other to allow the hate to truly take root. 

“Of course we’re friends,” her voice and face softened and she looked even more beautiful. Gendry swallowed hard. 

“Well,” said Gendry turning abruptly and walking to his wardrobe and pulled out a clean tunic, tugging it over his head, “we’ve seen each other, and if that’s all Lady Stark, I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to be in the Lord’s chambers, alone, at such a moment.” 

“Why?” her hard manner slipped a little back into her old ways with him; pushing back and challenging him, and despite the situation Gendry felt a flicker of pride at still being able to push her buttons after all this time, “I’m not a Lady. Or are you planning on throwing me onto you’re bed and having you’re way?” 

There was a sudden cheeky edge to her voice but Gendry felt his temper flare. 

“You might not care for what others think, but I’m sure my betrothed certainly would.”

That surprised her. He saw it in the sudden close of her mouth, the way her body froze momentarily, how she blinked stupidly. 

“Oh,” there was a barely noticeable hitch in her voice, but he heard it, knew her better then she thought, “Congratulations.” 

“Well then, Lady Stark,” Gendry continued as he walked to the chamber door and opened it, refusing to let his resolve slip, watching her expectedly, “if you’d be so kind…”

They stared at each other across the room in a sort of gridlock, neither dared to breathe for a moment, Gendry holding open his chamber door trying with all his life to keep his emotions in check whilst she stood sill by the desk. 

“I’ll have the servants set up a room for you-”

“No,” her emotionless clipped tone returned as she silently stepped towards the door, “you’re future Lady probably won’t like you hosting an unrelated unmarried woman in you’re castle. I only came to see if you are well, and I have.” 

She went to brush past him but instead paused before him and raised her eyes to his, her expression suddenly challenging, daring him to stop her from moving further. His chest contracted at her proximity, he could smell her again, “I wish you well Lord Baratheon.” 

“And you Lady Stark,” he forced out in his clip tone but gave her a polite nod regardless.

She stared him down for a small moment, but he simply stared straight back, refusing to break. He wasn’t that baseborn bastard blacksmith anymore, bowing and scrapping when the Lords and Ladies approached him, succumbing to their every wish, to her every wish. She’d used him just as much as the Red Woman had, and he’d be damned if he didn’t show his own strength now. 

She suddenly turned and strode abruptly away, her cloak blowing a little around her heels as she disappeared into the darkness of his castle. 

000

Arya Stark had arrived and remained hidden in the Stormlands for nearly a fortnight before she decided it was time to return to the sea. And she’d be lying if she said the moment she finally made that decision had nothing to do with witnessing the Lord Baratheon with his future Lady. How she smiled up at him in her soft ladylike way, how he’d gripped her hand and kissed it softly once. But Arya tried not to think about that, she didn’t even know why she cared about it! 

This Lady was golden haired and light blue eyes adored a lightly tanned face with pink cheeks and lips, her figure curvy but long. She was the golden version of her own sister. Regal but more gentle then Sansa, like summer. Arya nearly laughed at the irony when she discovered that her own sister had been the one to set the match up between the Baratheon Lord and the Dornish princess. The Hound had told her to choose life once; but she’d soon learnt that life liked to fuck with you hard sometimes.

She could see why this lady’s opinion would matter to the Baratheon Lord. If she was a man, once a bastard with nothing, being able to share a bed with such a beauty would tapper her opinions and emotions too. But she wasn’t a fool though, he might have mastered the careful art of being a highborn Lord, hiding his true feelings behind a stern face (again, Arya suspected her sister might have had a role in his education) but Arya knew him. Those bright blue eyes had watched her warily, she’d hurt him, and seeing her again hurt him still. His words had been true when he said he loved her, probably still true to this day. 

In truth Arya wasn’t even sure why she’d travelled to the Stormlands. It would have made more sense to visit Winterfell, Sansa and Jon, but her curiosity had outweighed her better judgment and she’d stayed hidden amongst the common people watching how much the people respected their Lord, how much he would help to toll in the fields with them, help to rebuild damaged housing with his own forge skills, helping arm his soldiers and household guards, making sure the youth who needed it were given a trade so they might have a future to feed their families. She’d been right; he was indeed a wonderful Lord. 

And seeing him again, in his prime, broke a little scar in her chest that she’d inflicted on herself. She couldn’t be this Lady, she knew that, she wouldn’t be able to stay put in such a place baring children and sitting by idly. But family, maybe she’d thought…

But then he’d told her of his wife-to-be and she’d watched from the shadows how he laughed with her, smiled at her and sometimes teased her and Arya hated the way her heart pounded fast and her stomach would drop through her naval. His Lady wife would make him happy beyond reproach; so happy that he’d forced himself to push her away knowing she only brought hurt to his life-

Arya stopped her walk and realized she’d ended outside the forge of Storm’s End. She could hear the singing of steel inside, the hissing of hot steel, the talk of the blacksmiths and the Lord Baratheon’s voice, deep, gentle and instructing. Again, against her better judgment, she slipped inside the forge. After all, she planned to leave the next morning and then she’d never set eyes on him again. She could at least give him a final farewell.

The forge was hot and smoky, she could make out four or five blacksmiths working and busy with their projects and orders. She spotted the Lord Baratheon straight away, and was slightly surprised he was instructing a young woman of around fifteen. Ser Brienne of Tarth might have looked like that in her youth Arya thought. The girl was nearly as tall of the Lord Baratheon himself. 

“Milord!” called a blacksmith close by, startling Arya, “we have a new customer.” 

He didn’t look like a Lord in that moment. His tunic and pants were dirty and soot covered every inch of his bare skin. The collar of his tunic was open and Arya could see the sweat shinning against his chest and neck. He raised his bright blue eyes, they glowed in the low light and fires of the forge, and meet hers’. He visibly stiffened but he sighed in exasperation. Arya frowned. 

“Alright everyone,” he called, “good work for today. We’ll finish tomorrow. Kara, take you’re dagger home and show you’re father. He’d be proud.” 

Arya watched as the girl next to him grinned at her Lord taking the dagger from her instructor and followed the other blacksmiths as they muttered and chattered to each other beginning to make their way to leave. 

Arya watched as the Lord Baratheon took up a dirty cloth and whipped his hands on it, completely ignore her gaze but said, “Kara’s father was one of my best blacksmiths but he lost his arm in a horse accident last year. She has her father’s talent so I thought why not train her myself.” 

“She couldn’t have a better teacher,” and she meant it too. She watched him nod absent mindedly as he started to clear away tools. Arya glanced over her shoulder and saw the last blacksmith leave, closing the forge door behind him, leaving them in the darkened forge with just the fires glowing. 

She turned her gaze back to him and saw he was watching her. They were both silent for a moment before Arya suddenly blurted out. 

“I’m leaving.” 

The Lord Baratheon crossed his arms over his chest and she saw the muscles in his arms bulge a little, his chest strong too. Arya swallowed, remembering how once she’d held tight to those arms, her nails biting as she gasped his name in time to the gentle rock of their bodies. She forced herself to keep looking at his face instead though. She sensed she didn’t have the same dumbstrucking effect on him as she used to. He’d sooner throw her out then she’d actually have the chance to say goodbye if she didn’t play this game right. 

He raised an eyebrow, “I thought you would have left a week ago.” 

“I just wanted to say goodbye, I couldn’t catch you by yourself.” 

“And why bother this time?” His carefully formed blank expression slipped a little and she saw the burning anger was trying to keep in control. 

“What?” 

“Why bother this time,” he repeated slowly through gritted teeth like he was talking to a disobedient child, placing his palms down onto the workbench that separated them, “You didn’t say goodbye last time.” 

“I barely said goodbye to my sister and brothers.” 

Arya watched him exhale through his nose and he broke their eye contract, lowering his eyes and swallowing hard. She didn’t like this, the hostility he felt towards her, this wall that he’d built towards the memory and thought of her. She knew she deserved it, even suspected he wouldn’t be pleased to see her, but facing his anger and hostility stung more then if he’d actually struck her. 

“Well,” his tone turned gentle and controlled again as he looked back up at her, his expression more pleasant though, sincere almost, “I wish you all the best on you’re travels Lady Stark, I really do. Stay safe.” 

She suddenly felt the urge to slap him and shove him back. She didn’t even understand it herself, but his forced dismissal of her was painful. He then turned his back on her and began to walk to collect disused tools lying about the forge.

“Gendry I-” 

“Don’t!” his voice was harsh but she could hear the hurt there now like a fresh wound being sliced open, “Don’t say my name!” 

“Why?” her own mask slipped in her panic and frustration, her emotion finally betraying her in her voice and face for the first time in a long time. She couldn’t leave it like this, the thought of him hating her made her feel rotten.

Gendry suddenly threw one of his tools hard across the room in a fury and it hit the opposite wall, cracking like a whip with a powerful thud. He’d lost none of his strength she realized as he rounded on her sharply, his eyes blazing and his face hard. 

“Because I don’t want to spend the next three years waking up hearing your voice saying my name again! I don’t want to keep dreaming of you for the next three years when I have a wife lying next to me! So please! If you are to leave then leave! I don’t see why you suddenly give a shit now Arya! Why did you even come here?”

Arya stood frozen to her spot as Gendry glared at her forcefully, his forge hammer still held tightly in his fist. She wanted to say something but she couldn’t, she didn’t know what to say. 

“I don’t know,” she finally said, her voice quiet, small and honest for once, “I don’t even know why I came here. I shouldn’t have,” she took a step backwards then and she felt her throat close up, “I can see you’re happy. You’re a good Lord, you’re people respect you, and I can see you’re Lady loves you very much-”

She turned abruptly then and took a total of three steps, her eyes on the forge door, she couldn’t be in the room anymore, when a strong hand gripped her forearm and she was spun on her feet as Gendry’s lips crashed on hers as he seized the back of her head, holding her firmly to him. 

It was being hit by a racing horse, Arya slipped away from her herself and she clung to him kissing him back as he walked her backwards in one motion until her hips hit a table’s edge and he seized her, pulling her up to him, the entire time their lips biting, sucking and drowning in each other. Arya felt her hair become loose from her bun as he tugged it down and she returned the favor running her fingers through his black hair. 

Arya felt the cut inside her open fully then and a whimper escaped her throat as they blindly began to pull clothing off and aside, refusing to stop kissing each other. She’d tried to find better in her travels with other men, but even when she closed her eyes their hands didn’t quite feel the same. She felt his hands again now; rough, large and familiar as they stroked and covered every inch of her bare skin, he smelt like soot and fire and Gendry…

Her fingers hurriedly unlaced his breeches as he torn hers’ down her legs, ripping off her boots along with them. Suddenly his mouth was gone from hers and she wanted to protest but she caught a glimpse of his face, his blue eyes dark and his face shadowed by the dying fires of the now empty forge. He looked almost as predatory as she was nowadays and she opened her mouth to call him back but he dipped his head between her legs and Arya melted all at once, her back arching off the table and he seized her hips to keep control as Arya’s fingers found his hair tugging and pulling him. 

They hadn’t done this last time, there hadn’t been time, but now he was taking his time, licking and nipping when and where he wanted, coaxing little noises of approval from her without her even realizing she was doing so. And just as suddenly as he was there he stopped, rising to meet her eyes again as Arya pushed herself up on her palms, her legs shaky and now a heavy wetness between them. She moved forward then pushing his breeches down as he leaned into her and kissed her again, and she pulled him from his trousers as he grabbed hold of her hips again and pulled her roughly to the edge of the table. 

He pushed her hands aside suddenly and without warning in one motion aligned himself to her and thrusted inside her; a painful pleasure seared through her core and she cried out, tears prickling her eyes, as she gripped his biceps and sunk her teeth into his shoulder, her breath knocked from her chest as she gasped against him. 

He suddenly took hold of her jaw and brought her face to his, kissing her fiercely; strong, demanding and dominating. She’d never had this in a lover before and she found herself bending to his will for the first time. He then started to move and Arya tightened her grip around his shoulders as he seized under her knees bringing her close to him and opening her legs further. He broke the kiss as their gazes met but he kept the delicious rhythm going, she meeting each and every thrust. He leaned in and rested his forehead on hers, his blue eyes almost black but his expression was softer now, loving, and Arya suddenly wanted to cry. She bit her lip hard as tears suddenly welled in her eyes. 

Gendry suddenly scooped her up in his arms and walked her deeper into the forge and after a moment she felt herself sink into a soft surface as Gendry rested on top of her and she whimpered, her teeth still sinking into her lip. Still inside her Gendry didn’t start moving again but he touched her lip, pulling it from her teeth before whispering, his voice low, “Don’t. Their too beautiful to ruin.” 

The words hung heavy in the tiny space between them before Arya reach for him, her heart pounding and her body singing for him, pulling him down to her in a searing kiss and they found their rhythm again. They fitted together so perfectly, where he pushed she pulled, he’d move and she’d move. Soon both their controls slipped and Arya, without really knowing how or when, was dissolving into a mess of moans, gasps and begs and Gendry had one hand gripping her hair and the other the frame of the small bed using it as leverage as his thrusts turned powerful and blinding, the small bed groaning and creaking as he whispered her name again and again, and suddenly she wanted to feel him. She reached above their head desperately for his hand, lacing their fingers together as she cried out, her body overtaken by an ecstasy she’d not quite experienced before as he quickly followed her. 

The sudden quiet of their bodies was deafening, only broken by their harsh breathing, as their gazes met, their expressions a mixture of wonder, satisfaction and something Arya was absolutely terrified to name. 

“I love you,” his voice was a hoarse whisper “I can’t help it and I can’t stop it Arya.”

“I know,” her voice was raw and her chest rose and fell quickly, both of them were slick with sweat, “I know.” 

It was all she could give him right now but she gently pulled him down for a kiss that lingered between them, she stroked his cheeks where a few days old beard was beginning to grow, and when their kiss broke she rested his forehead down on hers. 

He finally rolled off her and they lay curled around each other on the bed, not speaking but simply grazing at each other as Gendry’s hand held hers’ his fingers slipped through Arya’s absently until Arya closed the distance between them and slipped herself on top of him and their coupling this time was slow and gentle, and Gendry held her like she was the most precious item in the world as she fell apart in his arms his name falling from her lips.

Later when Gendry’s breathing had evened out and he finally slept in the early hours of the morning Arya watched him quietly, mentally tracing the shape of his lips, the straight curve of his nose, his dark lashes closed against his shin, his strong jaw and curved cheekbones. He looked younger in his sleep lulled there by Arya’s fingers as she traced patterns against his forearm. 

It was only then that Arya dared to mutter the words under her breathe, her lips barely moving as she watching Gendry’s chest rise and fall peacefully, the scar in her chest wide open now.

"I love you." 

000

Nine Long Months Later.

Arya Stark was accustomed to pain. She knew pain, death, destruction in all their meanings and personifications. She’d experienced each one, in many different forms again and again. 

But this, this pain, she hated beyond anything in the world. 

“Come on Arya!” the ship’s head cook Ria cried as Arya screamed in reply, “just one more! Push!”

She fell back against the thin bare pillow and bloody sheets as Ria and her second, an older widowed fishwife Barbara, cried at her to not give up, keeping going girl, push! 

Her world was spinning and she could smell blood, the metallic tang was fire in her nostrils, her world only pain. 

“Fuck’s sake girl!” Barbara cried out, pulling her up, “Fucking push! Get the bastard out!” 

Slick with sweat, her hair hanging around her face, Arya felt the women pull her up as she screwed up her face in anger and resolve, screaming and pushed with all her might. There was searing pain until there suddenly wasn’t and she gasped in relief sobbing as tears mixed down her face with sweat. It was over, she felt her body release and contract and Arya fell back against the mess of the sheets, exhausted to the depths of her bones, shaking from the sudden ordeal her body had just been through. The two women exclaimed in joy and Ria pressed a kiss to Arya’s forehead muttering soothing words that she could barely hear, but then the sudden cries of an infant filled the cabin piercing through Arya’s foggy senses. She could barely feel the ship rocking heavily from side to side and the high waters crashing against the ship’s sides was drowned out by the babe’s bawling. 

Arya struggled to sit up as Ria helped her and she watched as Barbara wrapped the child in a clean cloth before turning away meaning to take the child straight away as Arya had determined be done. But the little cries broke through Arya’s hard coldness and she was suddenly desperate to at least see the babe’s face before she pushed it away forever. 

“Wait!” her voice was hoarse from her screaming and crying, ”wait!”

Barbara turned and leveled a stern look at the young woman still lying in all sorts of bodily substances, her face pale but her grey eyes were sharp and fixed on her bastard babe. 

“It’ll be easier this way,” the older woman said softly, “spare yourself the pain of letting her go.” 

Arya felt the air leave her chest, a baby girl. And suddenly her heart ached and her voice cracked and she struggled to reach out and stay seated without Ria’s help, “Please just let me see her. Just once.”

She became desperate when Barbara hesitated, the babe started to fuss and cry louder and Arya’s temper flared, “She’s mine!” 

Barbara sighed heavily before approaching Arya muttering, “as you wish then girl!” 

Carefully Barbara passed the crying babe into Arya’s arms as she stared down hungrily at the child. It felt strange at first, she’d never held a child let alone a babe before, but she moved the cloth aside and placed the babe’s face to the skin of her breast. She didn’t know why, but it just felt right. Instinct almost. The babe suddenly quieted, seeming to know the warm of her mother’s skin as Arya found herself staring down at the child and began to gently rocked her back and forth keeping her close. 

Already she had a whisper of dark hair on the top of her head and her eyes were blue as the deep ocean seas as the babe stared back up at her. 

“She’s going to be striking!” Ria said watching the babe too, “Look at those eyes! The father’s?” 

“Yes,” Arya whispered after a beat still watching the child in her arms; her child, her daughter, their baby. And suddenly Arya knew she could never part with this little thing, to leave her in a stranger’s arms to be nursed and ruled over. She was half wolf like her mother; she needed to be with her pack, her real pack. 

“I take it you’ve decided against giving up the child then?” Barbara asked, one eyebrow rising as she gazed at the girl and babe, “you’re already in love it seems.” 

“She’s mine,” Arya repeated firmly as her daughter watched her with big blue eyes, and she suddenly realized Barbara was right. She, Arya Stark, Bringer of the Dawn, had fallen in love with her little daughter within seconds of meeting her just as much as she loved the bull that had fathered her. 

000

Nobody in all of Westeros understood how one night the Queen of the North, Sansa Stark, had gone to bed childless to then everybody waking up the next morning to find a seven-year-old girl sitting beside their Queen at breakfast. 

The child’s demeanor was shy at first, her ink black hair and blue eyes striking in her small pale face. She was small for her age, bird-like in her stance, but once the servants and the Lady of Winterfell became accustomed to her, the mischievous side to her character became very apparent. 

Nobody knew where she’d come from and the Queen refused to answer any pressing questions, simply saying the child was her kin and would be treated with the same respect as any Princess of the North would be. 

Two years after the child had appeared Arya Stark stepped foot into Winterfell for the first time in nearly ten years. And what shocked people even more was when Alice Stark, Princess of Winterfell, ran across the courtyard when she’d spotted the newcomer crying out “Mama!” and throwing herself into Arya Stark’s arms who held the child tight, pressing her face into her black hair, unshed tears gleaming in her eyes. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years of being at sea again Arya Stark returns to Winterfell in the dead of night, her little daughter clutching to her hand tightly, ready to face the Queen of the North after all these years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was no way I was planning on doing a follow up chapter but all you lovely people inspired me so here we have it. Now, I know people were annoyed chapter 1 wasn’t a truly ‘happy’ resolve. This is the GOT universe after all, not Disney! I hated how the writers didn’t make Arya and Gendry endgame as much as everyone else, but in retrospect they stayed true to Arya’s character. If season 8 had been a full season with many episodes maybe they would have developed their relationship to last, but I think the limited screen time meant they simply couldn’t. It wouldn’t have been believable; especially for Arya’s character and even Gendry falling in ‘love’ with her so quickly was a little farfetched for me. But that is just my own opinion.

“Mama, why don’t I have hair like Aunt Sansa?” Seven-year-old Alice Stark observed her reflection in a silver rimmed mirror that hung upon the wall of her new chambers, her little mouth was pursed tight in disapproval and her eyebrows were drawn in a sulking frown. 

“What makes you say that sweetling?” Arya comes to her daughter, wrapping the little girl in her arms and watching their reflections. Her daughter had inherited her face, long cheekbones with a strong nose and chin and sharp eyes. Except their colour was a striking bright blue and her lips curved in a way that didn’t belong to Arya, her smile was always a bright laughing smile too. Those she hadn’t inherited from her mother. 

“Her hair is so bright and colourful!” Alice looked up at her mother’s face and squinted in the darkened chambers and her tone had a clip of accusation, “I like it better.” 

Arya smiled lightly before crouching down before her daughter and taking her hands, “You have midnight hair, like the skies when there is no moon or stars. You remember those nights?”

“The nights we get lost?” Alice cocked her hair slightly her big clever eyes bright.

“Sometimes,” Arya grinned at her, “when there is no moon and no stars to guide our way, and we can sail around endlessly. Being lost in the darkness like that has it’s own adventure; you wake in the morning never really knowing what to expect. A new adventure is on the horizon.”

“I still want hair like Aunt Sansa.” 

Arya sighed softly and draw her little girl into her lap, “You have you’re father’s colouring sweetling. But you are as beautiful as your Aunt Sansa.” 

“Can I be Queen of the North one day too?” 

“You my darling,” Arya grinned again, stroking her little chin, “will be exactly who you want to be. If you wish to roll in the mud with the pigs all day long then you shall!” 

Arya heard a disgruntled snort from behind them and both mother and daughter turned to see Sansa Stark, Queen of the North, standing in the doorway of Alice’s chambers, holding a silver tray with three goblets upon it in her silky nightdress and winter robe. She was giving Arya the look; the look Arya knew well. 

“She will have to learn some highborn etiquette Arya if she is to be living in the castle and hold the name ‘Stark’. She will have a boy’s and a girl’s education and then choose what she wishes when she is grown,” she lifted a perfect eyebrow, “Fair?” 

“Fair!” cried Alice before Arya could reply and the edges of Sansa’s mouth twitched a little as they rose into a small smile. 

But Arya groaned loudly, “Please don’t turn my daughter in a simpering Lady Sansa!”

Sansa simply rolled her eyes in response, “She’s you’re daughter! As if I’d be able to tame such a headstrong little girl for long!” 

She placed the tray onto the little writing desk in the corner and approached the mother and daughter, holding out two goblets to them. 

“Wine?” Arya asked hopefully eagerly taking hers. 

It had been a long journey here and Alice had spent much of it emotional, she wasn’t used to being away from the rocking of the waves and the spray of the salt water. But as soon as she’d met her regal and queenly aunt her temper had quieted, staring at Arya’s beautiful sister in awe. Arya knew Alice was reminded of the legendary Targaryen Queens that Arya would tell her little girl stories of nearly every night before sleep. 

“Hot Chocolate,” Sansa replied as Alice happily gulped the sweet hot liquid, nearly burning her inside, and not caring a single bit. She licked her little pink lips and observed the two women in front of her making conversation. One so different from the other, one ice and one fire, but an understanding between them, invisible to the common eye but Alice could see the way her mother would watch her Aunt with affection in her eyes. She’d never looked at anybody like that, except herself, of course. 

The sweet drink was thick and warm as Alice took another warm gulp feeling her eyes become heavy and she leaned on her mother who then noticed her daughter’s softened body against her. Breaking her conversation she pulled her daughter into her arms and took her over the big featherbed. It was soft and lovely as Alice snuggled into the sheets before her eyes snapped open in alarm.

“Mama!” 

Arya paused, just about to press a soft kiss to her little girl’s forehead, “Yes sweetling?”

“My Nymeria!” 

Arya nodded and Sansa watched curiously as Arya reached into her niece’s bag and pulled out a soft toy and handed it over to the girl who seized it quickly, tucking the toy under her chin and snuggling down into the soft and fresh sheets. 

Arya paused and took in the sight for a moment, a terrible pain in her chest, trying not to let her emotions bubble to the surface as she leaned down and lightly kissed her daughter’s cheek, stroking her soft black hair fondly, before whispering, “Sleep well sweetling.” 

She was about to turn from the bed when Alice spoke, “You’re leaving, aren’t you, Mama?” 

Arya’s eyes rose and met Sansa’s in that moment and for the first time in a very long time Sansa saw true pain flicker across her sister’s stony features. 

“I must Alice,” she said spoke gently as her daughter raised herself to be seated again, looking wide away now and pushing the sheets away angrily, “you cannot come with me this time. Where I travel now is a very dangerous place. I cannot risk you becoming a target for revenge against me.”

“But where are you going?” Alice asked, her eyes searching her mother’s face desperately before flicking to her aunt’s and back to her mother, “I’m not scared!” 

“No,” Arya grinned at her, trying to blink back her tears and not let them fall, “You are a Stark; fearless and strong. I must to travel to Braavos immediately, and there I might not be able to protect you at all times. There are ways bad men and women could sneak up and take you from me and I won’t ever allow that. I trust you’re safety with no one, besides you’re Aunt Sansa.”

Alice stared at her mother for a moment, her mind calculating her mother’s words before saying, “But…why…what is in Bray-ov-oss?”

“I must find someone, an old friend,” Arya said gently tucking a strand of hair behind her daughter’s ear, “And I cannot return until I know what has happened to him.” 

“Will you kill them?” Sansa blinked in surprise and alarm at her niece’s question, surely her sister had not told her child of her dark past as an assassin and her art of stealing faces.

“No,” Arya kissed her little girl’s forehead again, “but if harm has come to him I will hunt down whoever is responsible.” 

Alice tugged aggressively at her toy’s floppy ears remaining silent for a moment. Sansa could tell she wasn’t happy to be left behind but the child was considering her mother’s words before finally saving, “Alright. You can leave. Just as long as you come back Mama.”

A noise that sounded somewhere between a chuckle and a sob escaped Arya’s throat and she pulled her daughter into a tight hug, “I will always come back for you my sweet little girl. You are precious, more then anything in this world. You know that, right?” 

Sansa averted her gaze for a moment feeling like she was intruding on a private moment now, but it made her smile nonetheless. Her sister was right, the little Stark was precious and between them she and Arya would ensure Alice never saw the horrors they had both experienced as children. 

“Aye Mama,” Alice replied before Arya tucked the sheets around her daughter’s chin again, “I love you.”

“I love you too sweetling,” it took all of Arya’s strength of keep her resolve from crumbling, “Sleep now. We will see each other again soon.” 

Alice slowly closed her blue eyes and snuggled into the soft bed. Arya stroked her daughter’s hair and hummed to her softly. Sansa continued to observe silently watching how Arya this Arya was gentle and affectionate. How her sister had changed; her once cold assassin of a sister who could take down a legendary killer like the Night King, could be brought to her knees by somebody so little, her own flesh and blood. Sansa wasn’t sure if she was envious or not; to have the unconditional love of somebody in such a powerful way. She’d dreamed of it once, a very long time ago, but then her father’s head had been removed and her dreams shattered along with it. It was both a blessing and a curse she thought. 

But maybe this was their second chance, Sansa thought, for both herself and Arya watching as Alice’s breathing evened out, her little toy tucking close to her chest. Sansa was reminded of a child-Arya, how she had slept in a mess, limbs and hair everywhere, but her niece was still and peaceful in her sleep and Sansa was relieved for it. Arya, for her dangerous adventures, had somehow managed to keep her daughter somewhat innocent of the horrors that the world could inflict upon little girls. Quietly she returned the goblets to the tray and took the tray in her hands as Arya moved from the bed, as silent and catlike as ever. She saw the pain in her sister’s face, the guilt shining in her eyes but her lips did not tremble. She paused for a moment though, glancing over at a sleeping Alice before pulling a skinny sword from her hip. 

Sansa recognized it instantly. Needle. 

Sansa watched in astonishment as her sister placed the little sword onto the table of her daughter’s chambers and swiftly left the chamber without a backwards glance, Sansa following her after a moment, closing the door softly behind her. 

The sisters walked through the sleeping halls of their forefathers neither breathing a word, Arya leading the way to Sansa’s solar, closing the door behind them both. Even after all these years she still knew her way around her childhood home. Sansa placed the tray down and tended to the dying embers of the fire and stroked them, making them flicker back to life and helping to drown the room in warmth. Arya had wandered over to the solar’s window gazing down into the deserted courtyard of Winterfell below her. 

“Thank you.” 

Sansa looked up at her sister’s back, her hands were clasped against her spine as she stood with that unnatural stillness that still unnerved Sansa. 

“She is you’re daughter. My niece. She is a Stark of the Winterfell. This is her home as much as yours.”

“And I meant it, you know. I trust you, and only you, with her safety.” 

Arya turned then, her face not as cold as she probably wanted it to be. She was struggling to keep her emotions in check so Sansa smiled at her warmly. She suddenly realized how much she had missed her, her impossibly stubborn little sister with her strange ways. She had been gone for so long again. 

“The friend,” Sansa said slowly watching Arya carefully. Her expression didn’t change though, “the one that has disappeared in Braavos. Are you talking about Lord Baratheon?”

Arya didn’t react at first, she then sighed deeply and turned back to watching the courtyard below, “Yes.”

“I didn’t realized you had been such close friends,” Sansa answered carefully choosing her words diplomatically, “Or do you go chasing after every Lord and Lady that goes missing across the Narrow Sea?”

Arya said nothing in response making Sansa click her tongue in annoyance. Still, after all these years, her sister held so many secrets. She never really understood what motivated her these days; revenge had once, but now? She’d heard rumors throughout the years about her funny little sister. She remembered her maid once saying how she often saw Arya lurking around Winterfell’s forge during the days before that terrible Long Night, how she favored the King’s friend, the bastard blacksmith, ‘the handsome one’ her maid had said. And then after she had left; where her ship’s banners had been spotted, the people who’d she’d met, when she’d disappeared and then suddenly resurfaced again in the gossips of the common folk.

“I heard a rumor once,” Sansa decided to broach this subject cautiously, play it Arya’s way through the ‘game of faces’ as she had once called it, “You returned to Westeros a few years back after you’d first travelled West, one time before now. Is that true?”

Arya turned back to her elder sister and her grey eyes were hard stone, but there was a flicker of something akin to nervousness in her gaze now despite her face remaining passive, regarding Sansa silently, before she finally gave a nod, “True.”

“And you were spotted in the Stormlands from some reports that reached me. I once sent a raven to Lord Baratheon asking if he’d heard or seen of you. He said he had not.” 

Again Arya remained silent but Sansa caught her swallowing thickly, almost like Sansa was brimming on the edge of something important then, and she now suspected that the Lord Baratheon had been lying to her. Arya waited for her sister to place the pieces together for herself, she was the smartest person Arya knew, still was even after all these years. 

“Alice is a Baratheon, isn’t she?” Sansa’s voice held a sharper edge now, “Tell me true Arya!” 

“True,” Arya whispered but then added a little more harshly, “but she is a Stark! She is my daughter! He doesn’t even know she was born.”

“Did you allow him the chance to?” Sansa retorted harshly. 

Her sister narrowed her eyes then and her voice dropped to a hiss, “He wanted me to be his wife Sansa! The Lady of Storm’s End he’d said. But that isn’t me, it never was. He was stupid! I couldn’t give up the freedom of being me!” 

“Arya,” Sansa approached her sister slowly like she would a wounded wild animal, “you’re daughter is the heir to the Stormlands. Would you really deny Alice her rightful seat as a Baratheon for you’re pride? Tell me what happened, I must know if I’m to help keep her from harm.”

Arya pursed her lips thoughtfully before she walked to a jug of wine sitting on Sansa’s writing table. She silently filled two goblets, draining one of them quickly and quickly refilling it, and turned back to her sister. Sansa was still standing against the firelight, her red hair was illuminated making it glow in the light, but her Tully eyes were narrowed at her younger sibling. Arya handed her sister her own goblet before slumping down into the chair near the fireplace and watched the flames flicker in silence. Sansa slowly sunk in the seat opposite her and Arya began her story. 

She told Sansa how after Ned Stark’s head had been removed she’d travelled along the King’s Road and through the Riverlands with Gendry Baratheon (he’d been Waters at the time) and another boy named Hot Pie. How they’d lost Hot Pie, and then Gendry had become determined she couldn’t be family to him (and he’d been right Sansa added silently, mother would never have allowed it), then how they’d been separated by the Red Witch, how she’d travelled with the Hound and his views of life and death mirrored her own awakening her murderous and vengeful side, and then she’d travelled to Braavos, encountered the House of Black and White, betrayed her Masters there and nearly died for it, before then returning home to Winterfell. Then before the Long Night Jon had returned and was being followed by Gendry, from there they had become reacquainted with each other.

Arya paused in her story and regarded her sister whom had not interrupted her tale once, “And then I visited Storm’s End seven years ago when I had returned to Westeros to restock. I was curious as to how my old friend was doing, whether he was still alive. He was, and then I left for another seven years at sea. The rest you know.” 

Sansa pursed her lips before saying, “You never wanted to be a mother-”

“I never wanted to be a Lady,” Arya interrupted her.

Sansa smiled lightly, “Yes, and being a mother is an extension of that in our world. So why keep the child? You could have just given her to a family that wanted her.”

Arya was silent for a moment, hesitating for the first time in her recollections as she tried to find the words to explain herself, her gaze flickering uncomfortably down to her goblet and hands, “I remember when I found out. I hated it, and I was so angry with myself. But it was too late for moon tea by the time I realized what was happening, I was already four moons along and it would have been dangerous for me to try and end it’s life without risking my own. So that was my first plan,” she raised her eyes back to her sister then, “birth it and then let them take it away. But-” Arya paused here and took a gulp of her wine before saying quietly, “but when I held her that first time she quieted almost instantly and she was watching me with those big blue eyes. I just…couldn’t…she was my baby, and I wanted to keep her safe and well and nobody would be able to do that better then me. And as she grew month after month, and year after year, I couldn’t bare the thought of anybody taking her from me. She is goodness and kindness; a summer child, Father would have said. She is more gentle and is quicker to love then me,” for the first time Sansa heard Arya’s voice change then, become more gentle, “she’s more like Gendry that way.” 

“It had been a long time since I’ve ever loved anybody or anything as much as I love her,” Arya said after another moment of silence, the fire crackling and popping between them. 

“Except her father,” Sansa answered and Arya snapped her eyes up to her sister’s face, “you wouldn’t willingly separate yourself from Alice to go searching for anybody. That I know already Arya.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” said Arya looking down and swirling the wine around her goblet, “but I heard stories from common folk off the coast of Dorne and I wrote to Ser Davos to ask” she smirked amusingly, “imagine his surprise at being the first person to hear from the infamous Arya Stark of Winterfell for the first time in near ten years. He told me how Lord Baratheon had travelled to Braavos on a simple errand but then had never returned to his ship before it was meant to set sail back to the Stormlands. He hasn’t been seen or heard of since, Ser Davos expressed his concerns that not even our brother can see what has happened to him.”

“That was nearly eight moons ago,” Sansa finished, “And how do you know he hasn’t just disappeared from his life as a Lord. You did it.” 

“Because that isn’t Gendry,” Arya said softly, “He wouldn’t run from his responsibilities. He’s a fighter.” 

“Like you?” Sansa smiled at little at her.

“And you!” Arya answered back, grinning across her. They fell into a comfortable quiet until Sansa spoke again, “Perhaps some disgruntled Stormlanders wanted him removed from his post. There is a high probability he is dead Arya.” 

Sansa watched as her sister’s eyes became hard as steel again and the skin around her mouth tightened. 

“Maybe,” she said darkly, “but I have another theory.” 

“Which is?”

“I left the House of Black and White without care or consequence. I took what they gave me and used it to my own benefit, betrayed those who had confided in the House’s trust and then killed one of their own. The Faceless Men can find you’re secrets, you’re loves and hopes and dreams, you’re nightmares, and use them all to their advantage. If they couldn’t find me, they wouldn’t have any qualms about taking Gendry’s face,” the idea made her chest tighten and she swallowed the lump in her throat, “as payment or punishment, I don’t know.”

“But it can be a trap!” Sansa was surprised Ayra of all people had not foreseen the danger, “to lull you to their shores if you think they have him.”

“Of course it could be,” Arya said quietly her eyes now burning like the fire next to them and no trace of fear, “which is why you mustn’t breathe a word of Alice’s parentage. Promise me Sansa,” she leveled her sister with a stern stare, “not even to Jon. If her presence is connected to me they would use her to draw me out.”

“Bran will probably know-”

“He wouldn’t betray me,” Arya shook her head, “And I’m certain our brother knows well what will happen if he should.”

Sansa leaned back in her chair and tipped the last of her wine down her throat before saying, “You have my promise. I’ll not say a word about her to anybody. We’ll do what Father did if we must; name her my bastard but give her our name. She will be a Stark. And then when she is older and if she wishes to know her father’s family I will tell her true.” 

“Thank you Sansa.” 

Arya rose from her chair and moved across the room in her silent way and set the empty wine glass back onto Sansa’s writing desk. Sansa knew it was time; her sister had had enough of talking. With a silent nod to her sibling Arya crossed back through the room towards the solar door, open it and paused at Sansa’s voice. 

“Are you sure you want to do this? She might lose both her parents for it.” 

Arya turned her head slightly and her grey eyes were sharp and bright, “If she does, tell her how much her mother loved her, and how much she is like her father.”

Without another word Arya Stark stalked forward leaving Sansa Stark to watch her disappear into the shadows of Winterfell’s castle, unbeknown again, if she would ever set eyes on her younger sister again.


End file.
